Replica: Crazy Versus Smart (Nigerian Story)

Chapter 50: Manipulations

The morning air at the nursing home was still as Aunt Funke wheeled Mr. Balogun down the garden path. Shadows of leaves danced along the ground, and Mr. Balogun’s gaze seemed distant, lost in thought.

"Amnesia?" he asked after a long silence, breaking his thoughtful reverie.

Aunt Funke nodded, pursing her lips. "Cryst told me," she replied. "Honestly, I’m not even sure if it’s true. These days, people say anything without thinking."

Mr. Balogun sighed, deep lines of worry etched on his face. “It’s normal for a husband and wife to argue. But Susanne... she’s endured so much. I wish she’d come to me sooner instead of bearing it alone.”

Aunt Funke huffed, lowering her voice. "Susanne is your daughter-in-law, and you see her as more than just that, don’t you? Michael may be my own blood, but that woman—Susanne—is cunning. No wonder Cryst is furious.”

Mr. Balogun’s lips pulled into a reluctant smile. "Furious? Cryst is still a child at heart. Susanne might be imperfect, but she’s mature and loyal. She’s fought to hold this family together, even through the... complicated affairs." His voice softened. "There can only be one wife at home who represents this family. And that wife is Susanne. I’ll protect her like my own daughter."

Aunt Funke’s face shifted, momentarily betraying her frustration. "Only the ‘legal wife,’ huh?" She muttered, barely audible, but quickly masked it with a polite smile.

Hours later, in a dimly lit room across town, Cryst sat across from Aunt Funke, her brows drawn tight in irritation.

"I'm not upset that Michael’s spending money on her hospital bills. What infuriates me is this ridiculous charade she’s putting on," Cryst sneered. “Amnesia? Really?”

Aunt Funke shook her head, reaching for an old box of expired medications she was sorting through. "I've seen plenty of cases in the hospital over the years, and I've barely come across anything like this. Susanne's not above pretending if it gives her an edge. She's always known how to pull sympathy."

Cryst’s fingers tapped restlessly against her phone. "Did you talk to Dad about her act? What did he say?"

Aunt Funke shrugged. "What do you expect? Your father is wrapped around her finger. It’s clear he’ll stand by her, no matter what."

"Well, as long as Michael wants a divorce, that’s what matters," Cryst replied, her voice simmering with bitterness. "If it weren’t for the accident, he’d probably already be halfway to the States. But now? Dad’s planning to push him to give Susanne shares of the company in exchange for her cooperation in a divorce.”

Aunt Funke’s eyes widened in shock. "Michael... wants to give her company shares?”

Cryst nodded with a smug look. “And as long as Susanne is out of this family for good, I don’t care how much she takes with her.”

The conversation lingered in Aunt Funke’s mind as she went back to her duties. What had started as an almost playful rivalry had twisted into something more—something darker. She feared where Cryst’s desperation might lead.

At dawn, in the hospital ward, Grace sat alone on a bench just outside her room. She reached for her phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Hello?” came the voice on the other end.

“Susanne?” Grace’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“Yes, Grace," Susanne replied. "Is everything alright?”

Grace sighed. “I’m fine, just... alone. I don’t think anyone’s watching me now, so I wanted to talk.”

“Aren't you at home? Where are you?”

“I’m at the hospital. I had a minor accident three days ago.”

Susanne’s voice grew anxious. "How did you end up in the hospital? Are you that hurt?”

“Just a small accident, nothing serious,” Grace assured her. "But now the Baloguns think I’ve lost my memory. I... went along with it to cover my tracks. But, Susanne... how much longer can I keep this up?"

Susanne’s laughter drifted through the phone. “My smart twin sister figured out a way, didn’t she? Don’t worry. As long as you keep acting according to plan, no one will find out.”

Grace hesitated, her voice barely a murmur. “But... when are you coming back?”

Suzanne’s tone shifted, her words colder. “That doesn’t matter now. I need you to stay there a little longer. There’s too much at stake.”

Grace clutched the phone tighter, feeling a pang of confusion and betrayal. “Are you sure, Susanne?”

“Yes. Now stay strong and trust me.” The line went dead before Grace could say more.

In a modest hotel room, Susanne dropped her phone onto the bed beside her. Kingsley, handed her a glass of juice.

“Who was that?” he asked.

Susanne took a slow sip, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Grace.”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "You think she’ll hold out?"

“She’ll manage,” Suzanne replied, an almost gleeful spark in her eye. “She’s my sister after all. But just to keep her convinced, let's give her a little ‘proof’ of my condition. Go get the bandages and that crutch.”

Kingsley’s face lit up with admiration as he fetched the props. Susanne took off her wig, letting her old woven corncrow  crown her oily face as Kingsley wrapped the fake bandage around her leg.

“Now,” she said, picking up her phone camera, “let’s give Grace a reason to stay put.”

Meanwhile, Michael navigated the busy streets of Kuje as he picked up Mrs. Nike, his mother-in-law, from the junction. She settled into the passenger seat with an appreciative nod.

“Amnesia…” she murmured, as if chewing over the word. "How could Susanne have such a bad fall in her own home?"

Michael frowned but tried to mask his irritation. "The doctor said she'll recover soon enough. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you."

Mrs. Nike shifted in her seat, casting him a sideways glance. "If you hadn’t told me, someone else would have. A neighbor mentioned it to me, or I’d be none the wiser."

She grew quiet, recalling a conversation she’d had with Susanne just days before. The words echoed in her mind: “Refer to her as if you are referring to me. Don't let them discharge her soon just to keep her away from the Balogun family. If she tells you anything, report it to me and if she plans to leave, inject this substance into her drug. Don't worry, it's not poison. It's just to weaken her for the meantime.” Mrs. Nike gripped the thermos on her lap, her palms sweating. Susanne’s manipulations were becoming a dangerous game, yet Mrs. Nike felt trapped, complicit in the deceit.

Michael brought the car to a stop in front of a busy shopping plaza. “I’ll be quick. Just picking up some strawberries and apples—her favorite.”

He slipped out, leaving her alone to ponder Susanne’s demands. Was she really supposed to go along with this? She prayed silently, hoping this tangled web wouldn’t unravel.

Elsewhere, back at the hospital, Grace sat on the bench, staring blankly at the photo Susanne had sent. Her sister, bandaged and pale, stared back at her. Grace’s chest tightened with doubt. How had she ended up tangled in Susanne’s web, standing in her sister’s shadow, lying to a family she barely knew?

As she clutched her phone, footsteps approached. She looked up to see Michael, standing in front of her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Susanne,” he said, the warmth in his voice tinged with worry, “what’s going on?”

Grace didn't respond until he touched her shoulder. Caught off-guard, she fumbled with her words. “I... I was just getting some air.”

Michael’s gaze didn’t waver. “Susanne?” His tone sharpened. “Whoever you are—when are you coming home?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, unanswered. As Grace felt the walls closing in, she caught the glimpse of Mrs. Nike walking towards her.